


Zookeeper

by eponine119



Category: Lost
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-20 17:47:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30008622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eponine119/pseuds/eponine119
Summary: Juliet patches Sawyer up on Hydra Island
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Zookeeper

Zookeeper  
by eponine119  
November 24, 2020

They bring him to her. The prisoner. Ford. He's got a pretty good gash on his head, with blood pouring down into his eye, which is probably the only reason why he's here in the infirmary. His lip is split, his fists are bruised, and he's still shaking from where they tased him. Again. 

Juliet nods, and is left alone with him. He glares at her with his one good eye. “Sit down,” she says, calmly and gently. After a moment, he sighs heavily and drops into the chair. 

She touches him carefully, one finger under his bristled chin to tip his head up so she can assess the situation. She thinks about encountering him in the jungle after he escaped from his cage. The way he looked at her, curious, but more than that. Like he really saw her. Like she didn't belong here. 

Acutely aware of his presence behind her, she walks to the sink and returns with a clean sponge. Water drips faintly onto the floor at her feet while she looks at him. The dirt is ground deep into his skin. He watches her, untrusting. She realizes that he thinks she's going to hurt him deliberately. Of course he thinks everyone here will hurt him. The way she feels about that must show on her face somehow, because he nods almost imperceptibly and then closes his eyes. She stands there another moment, listening to her heart hammering in her chest, looking at the way his eyelashes lie against his cheek. 

He doesn't flinch when she touches him with the sponge. 

There's something almost sensual in it, standing this close to him and washing his face. With slow, careful strokes, she wipes the side that isn't cut or bruised, drawing the sponge across the lines in his forehead and the creases around his eye that are highlighted by the dirt. Laugh lines. She wonders what kind of man he is – really, not just in the pages of the red folder with his name on it. 

She should go rinse the sponge, but she doesn't want to step out of this bubble of space that feels like trust between them. So she turns it in her hand, using a clean section to wipe away the dried blood, dabbing at the cut. It's deep and ugly and it turns her stomach. 

All the while he just sits there, breathing, a steady rise and fall of his chest. She glances down at it, where she can see his tan skin in the open v of his half-unbuttoned shirt. 

A strand of dark blond hair that had stuck to the gooey blood from the cut on his face comes free. She smooths it back with her fingers, curving them around his ear. The hair is just a millimeter too short to stay tucked there.

“What did they use?” she asks. 

His eyes open. Outside, she thought they were blue but here they pick up the pale green of the walls. “Pickaxe handle.” 

“When's the last time you had a tetanus shot?” 

“Hell if I know.” 

“All right,” she says. She nods, trying to center herself for the task at hand, and tries to smile at him. 

She tosses the sponge into the sink to be dealt with later, then goes to the cabinet for supplies. She can feel his eyes on her as she digs. She wonders why he sits there instead of attacking her and trying to escape. Maybe knowing there are guards outside is enough. Maybe being bashed in the head has taken some of the fight out of him. Or maybe he's biding his time and planning. She can't be sure. 

“So you're the zookeeper,” he says. It sounds like an effort to start a conversation. 

She laughs in spite of herself. She doesn't know what to say. He's not wrong.

There are a lot of supplies missing from the cabinet, but she turns up disinfectant, antibiotic ointment, and bandages. He looks at them like they're rare treasure, and she thinks about all of the people living on the beach with only salvage to survive. 

She rests her hand against the side of his face, steadying him, while she prepares to work. Her thumb brushes over his cheek, and again it feels strangely intimate. 

“This is going to sting,” she cautions, business-like. She meets his eyes. 

“You gonna kiss it and make it better?” 

He bites back a hiss as she cleans out the cut. It's almost deep enough to need stitches. Lucky for him – lucky for them both – the island doesn't leave scars. At least, not ones that you can see. 

She smears on some Dharma Initiative-branded Neosporin and pinches things closed with a butterfly bandage. “You'll need to keep this clean,” she advises. 

He gives her a look and she knows it's impossible, what she's telling him to do. He lives in a cage, drinks out of a polar bear trough, and starts a fight every couple of hours. 

“What about my lockjaw jab?” he asks. 

She shakes her head. “I'm sorry. I thought we had some, but we don't.” 

He glances around at the walls and ceiling of the aging facility. “Ain't exactly livin' in paradise.” 

“You could say that,” she agrees coolly. 

He looks at her for a long moment, and she just looks back, trying to keep her face still and unreadable. But she can't control her eyes, and she can't control her thoughts. He really is damned attractive, with his golden hair and his glare. He's looking at her like he's trying to figure her out. With any luck, she thinks, he never will. 

“You know that guy?” he asks. 

“Who, Pickett?” She figures Danny's the one who hit him. Again. She knows he's asking for his own reasons, but it still takes her by surprise. 

“You friends?” 

“Not exactly,” she says. She thinks Pickett's a bully, and nothing she's seen here has proven her wrong. 

“Why's he hate me so bad?” 

It surprises her. She watches him look away. He tongues at the cut on his lip. It's older, half-healed. It hurts and he likes it and that intrigues her. 

“Some people need someone else to blame for their problems. Whether it's rational or not.” 

“And he can,” Sawyer says. 

“That too,” Juliet agrees. 

They look at each other for a little while longer, the moment expanding to fill all the space between them. But they're finished here. She touches his face, giving it a little pat, just for a half-second, then pulls her hand away before he can reach up and grab her wrist. She sees the flash of it in his eyes. “We're done here,” she says. 

He gives her wild-eyed look and she almost yells for the guards. But she doesn't, and after a second, Sawyer gives her a smile. It's like she passed a test. “Thanks, doc,” he says. He keeps looking at her like's she's not just his zookeeper anymore. He looks at her like she's what's for dinner. His body is tense, but he doesn't move. 

She takes a deep breath. “He's coming out,” Juliet yells to the guards in the hall. The expression in his eyes changes. She takes a step back, holding her hands up, as two guys from the security crew rush in. She watches Sawyer submit to them as they manhandle him. 

He turns his head and looks back at her as they drag him out. 

She could have done something. 

She sits down on the chair, still warm with his body heat, and puts her head in her hands. Wondering, as she does every day, what she's doing here. 

End


End file.
